The Tuesday After Tuesday
by laureleaf
Summary: Something was wrong with Sammy. Dean can fix it though, because he's an awesome big brother. Tag for "Mystery Spot".


A/N: "Mystery Spot" is one of the best episodes in the show, but anyone who says it is a comedy is dead wrong. It is a horrific tragedy. Sam helplessly watched his brother die every day for _months_ , but it was played off as a _joke_ , which makes it even worse. After Wednesday, he turned Terminator for _six months_ to hunt down the Trickster. He was willing to _kill Bobby_ to get Dean back. A simple snap of the fingers, even archangel fingers, isn't going to fix almost a _year_ of Sam being forced to live his worst nightmares. I was disappointed in the lack of repercussions, so I wrote this fic. Warnings for rather foul language (blame the Winchesters).

I hope you all have a very pleasant Groundhog Day, and that you don't have to repeat it again and again and again… but if you do, I hope you enjoy reading this fic each time :P

~Always Keep Fighting : You Are Not Alone~

* * *

Something was _wrong_ with Sammy. He'd been overly chick-flicky in the morning, and beyond paranoid in the parking lot. His brother seemed to be torn between staring at Dean and canvassing their surroundings. He was jumpy, _really_ jumpy, as if they were on a hunt and he expected something dark and nasty to jump out at any moment. In his paranoia, Sam had forgotten the Rule that Dean drove first shift unless he was on death's door and had tried to get in the car on the driver's side. Once they were on the road, he was far too quiet.

"Talk to me, Sam," he'd thrown out there. Girl was always begging to chat, and always had jumped at any opportunity to have a heart-to-heart. Dean didn't often make the offer, but Sam always took him up on it, recognizing it as the rare peace offering it was.

Not today, apparently. Sam just shook his head and turned away, silent.

He'd been acting strange yesterday too; babbling about some sort of Star-Trek time loop madness where Dean died every day and acting even more mother-hennish than usual. They'd found the Trickster (how was he not dead?) and he'd agreed to back down. That didn't stop Sam from being hypervigilant for the rest of the day, jumping at every tiny noise and cautioning Dean to be careful while doing the most mundane of things, like brushing his teeth or eating a burger. Dean was annoyed by the ridiculous hovering, and would have called his little brother out on it, but he could see the very real fear in those big brown eyes.

That night, he could hear Sam shifting in the squeaky bed, clearly keeping watch and not getting any rest at all.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," he'd chided.

"No," his brother had said firmly. "I'm fine. Get sleep yourself, Dean."

"Nothing's going to happen: the Trickster said he'd leave us alone…" Dean had started, but Sam had just given him this _look_ , one that said "I _need_ this Dean" and so he just huffed and rolled his eyes and made a show of settling in to sleep. He was an _awesome_ big brother in that way.

* * *

Something was _wrong_ with Sammy. He'd always been a good hunter: Dean and Dad had made sure of that. But this… this was something new. Overnight he'd gone from a hunter to a _predator_. He didn't walk, he _prowled_. Sam's form had always been academically precise, but now he was almost poetic in his grace. Dad had moved like that. Dean knew that that level of expertise just didn't _happen_ , but it had. Something about that shitty town and 'Groundhog Day' had made Sam someone he almost didn't recognize. Someone _dangerous_. Someone who didn't need Dean's protection, but rather, was hardwired to protect _him_. It was strange in ways he didn't fully comprehend, but he did know that he didn't like it. Not one bit. If this is how Sammy felt about Dean being protective, he could see why he bitched so much about it. That said, Dean didn't give him any crap about it because he understood, he really did. He was leaving, for bad or for worse, and Sam would have to take care of himself. If this stalking, looming, driven professional was what that took… so be it. Dean would deal with it, because he was an _awesome_ big brother in that way. But he still mourned for who his little brother used to be.

* * *

Something was _wrong_ with Sammy.

"Stop the car!" Sam gasped. Dean took one look at his green face and slammed on the brakes. No way was he cleaning puke out of his Baby. Three seconds later, Sam was on the ground, head between his knees, breathing hard like he was going to pass out. Three seconds after that, Dean was out the door and around the car beside him.

"Hey man," he said soothingly, rubbing Sam's back as he shuddered. "Talk to me. Vision?" It had been years, but with their life, you never knew. The symptoms were off, but Sam wasn't exactly known to have panic attacks for no good reason.

"Turn the radio off," Sam gritted out, his stupidly-long hair obscuring his face as he curled into an even tighter ball.

"What?" Dean furrowed his brow. _Heat of the Moment_ blared in the background. "Asia's the best!"

"Turn. It. Off," Sam grunted, his hands already covering his ears. It was an odd request, but Dean complied, flicking the well-worn button on the radio before turning on the hazard lights. He snagged some water, painkillers, and a jacket from the trunk before rejoining Sam in the ditch. Not-so-little brother looked smaller and more pathetic than a grown six-foot-something man had any right to be. His breathing pattern was better, at least, and his quivering slowed down once Dean put the jacket around his shoulders. He still didn't understand what was going on. Shock, maybe? But they hadn't hunted in over a week: Sam couldn't possibly be wounded… Dean shoved his panic over that thought down deep. Calm Sammy down. Figure out what the problem was. Fix it. It was one of his oldest and most-used habits.

"Here," Dean nudged his brother with the water bottle. It, along with the pills, were taken with a timid hand. It was the first time Sam had accepted Dean's mothering without complaint in over a week.

"Promise me that you'll never play that song in the car again," Sam whispered, his face hidden by his dangling hair so Dean couldn't read it.

"Why?" he asked, confused. He knew Sam wasn't a fan of Asia, but this was a bit extreme. "What the hell is going on here Sam?"

Silence.

"Come on, man, talk to me," Dean encouraged. "What's wrong?"

"I watched you die, Dean," Sam whispered brokenly. "Over a hundred times. In _every_ possible way," he shuddered. Dean barely suppressed a full-body wince. He'd sold his soul, gladly, after watching his brother die _once_. He couldn't even imagine… But Sam was strong. He'd proven it again and again over the last few months. His brother had always been far tougher than Dean in all the ways that weren't physical.

"Yeah, and I always came back. I'm fine, Sammy." Dean rubbed his brother's back comfortingly. Sam just shook his head vehemently. "You don't understand."

"I can't read your mind, kiddo, and I really don't want to. Explain it for the idiot in the room," he prodded.

Sam slammed the water bottle onto the pavement and glared at Dean. The _fear_ and the _pain_ and the _hopelessness_ that had finally started to fade from his eyes was back with a vengeance.

"I. Watched. You. _Die_ ," Sam growled. "And I'd go from holding _your dead body_ to waking up in that _fucking_ hotel room with _that_ fucking song blasting in my ears like _that_ ," Sam snapped his fingers. "And there you'd be, larger than life, singing that _fucking_ song when two seconds ago you'd been choking on your own blood and the whole fucking nightmare would begin _again_."

Dean thought he might just vomit everywhere.

"Every time I hear that damn song all I can see is the light fading out of your eyes and feel your blood on my hands, Dean. And if I can't think of some way to get you out of your deal, I'm going to have to watch you die _again_ , except there won't be a trickster around to bring you back. So no, we aren't _ever_ going to listen to Asia in the car again," he wiped a shaky hand down his face.

Dean had known about his repeated deaths, but he'd never really stopped to think about what it had been like for his brother. It was just too horrible to contemplate for long. If Dean ever saw that trickster again, he was going to rip him into pieces with his bare hands. Slowly. Methodically. Painfully. Repeatedly. He would have done it weeks ago, but frankly he didn't even know where the bastard was and he was quickly running out of time. Odds were, he'd never get the chance. If the trickster showed again, Dean would most likely be roasting and Sam would have to deal with him on his own. The thought was painful, but true. That was the bed Dean had made: now he had to lie in it. But there was something he could do here and now to put a bandaid on his brother's bleeding heart. It wasn't much, but sometimes that was enough.

Dean went back to the car and flipped open the glovebox. A few moments of fishing around and he'd found what he was looking for. Dean sighed. He did love his Asia, but if this is what it took to keep _that_ look out of Sammy's eyes, he'd do it.

He tossed the tape to Sam. His eyes widened when he saw the title.

"What the hell, Dean?" he barked.

"Fire, gun, or car?" he offered. He made sure to keep his voice neutral as possible.

"What?"

"Well, you can burn it, shoot it, or run it over with the car, I'm not too picky," Dean listed casually. As if this was just another normal hunt. He had to be careful or Sam would spook.

"But it's…"

"Dad's original copy? Yeah, dude, I'm aware," Dean rolled his eyes. "Just gank it already before I change my mind."

"Dean…" Sam's voice was confused and just a little bit awed. Dean smiled to himself. He was still going to Hell, but he would always be an _awesome_ big brother.

"Any day now, Sammy, I'd like to be in before dark," he said as he slid into the front seat. Moments later, Sam settled in beside him. Dean hadn't heard a crunch or a gunshot, but he didn't see the tape either. Little brother didn't say anything though, and he wasn't asking. Instead, he floored the gas.

* * *

Sam absentmindedly surfed through the channels as Dean dozed in the backseat. Today was a Tuesday, and didn't that just put him on edge. It had been years, over a decade actually, since Gabriel's little 'lesson', but Sam had never quite gotten over it. He doubted he ever would. He glanced into the rearview mirror and allowed the sight of Dean drooling over his favorite jacket to soothe him. Despite all the various hells they'd been drug through, they were alive. Both of them.

Now that he thought about it, he'd not heard _that_ song in a blessedly long time. It was actually odd, considering how many rock stations they listened to and how many hours they spent in the car. Sam wasn't the best at statistics, but it was practically impossible for him to have _not_ heard it for this long. It could be a coincidence, he supposed… but the Winchesters hadn't lived this long by trusting in coincidences.

"You've reached K89Rock hotline, what's your request?"

" _Heat of the Moment_ by Asia," Sam said, hardly believing himself.

"I'm sorry, but we can't play that song. May I suggest…"

"Why?" Sam interrupted.

"One of our loyal sponsors specifically requested that we not play that particular song. Apparently it was one of his brother's favorites, but he died in a tragic accident a few years ago."

That story was just a little too close for comfort. A _lot_ too close, actually.

"What was the brother's name?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, honey. Do you have another request? I need to move on to the next caller."

" _Rock of Ages_ ," Sam said absentmindedly before hanging up. A few minutes later, the song started blasting from the speakers. Dean smiled in his sleep.

* * *

"You bribed every radio station in the continental US to not play _Heat of the Moment_ for the next decade," Sam said bluntly, slamming down his laptop in front of Dean. His brother looked startled for a moment, but quickly regained his characteristic calm.

"Whatever makes you think that? Have some donuts Sammy," he said nonchalantly.

Sam pushed the pastries aside. "You. Bribed. Every. Ra…"

"Radio station in the continental US, yes, Sam, I heard you the first time," Dean grumbled with annoyance around the donut he was chewing. He took a swig of coffee to wash it down.

"And?" Sam insisted.

"And what? I didn't do it. What's really got your panties in a twist?" Dean looked him up and down.

"Dean…" Sam groaned. Dean pointed suggestively at the last donut. Sam slid the box closer and his voracious brother eagerly snatched it. He thought that if he confronted his brother point-blank then he wouldn't be able to slide out of a conversation. Apparently he was wrong. Time to try another tactic.

"Where'd you get the money for it?" Sam asked slyly.

"The donuts? Free, man, the chick at the counter just _loves_ me," his irascible brother said with a wink.

"No, Dean, the radio station. Could you just answer a straight question for once in your life?"

"And for once in your life could you listen to what I'm saying?" Dean snapped, growing angry. "I didn't do it. Move on!"

"Someone, the _same_ someone, gave 'generous' donations to over a hundred classic rock stations that we listen to on a regular basis on the condition that they did not play _Heat of the Moment_ , because, and I quote, 'the song reminded the donor of the tragic accident that ended his brother's life'."

"Poor dude. Funny coincidence, Sammy, nothing more," Dean said just a bit too casually, cleaning up the dishes.

Sam played his trump card. "You know better than coincidences, Dean, especially in our line of work, nevermind our own personal experience." Dean grunted in half-hearted agreement. "It took some digging, but I found the donor's name."

"Yeah?" Dean said noncommittally, his back turned.

"Sam Winchester," he spat. Dean froze. "And the dead brother was Dean." The broad shoulders slumped. Sam rolled his eyes. Damn stubborn brother and his damn overprotective complex and his damn secrets. "Seriously, man, you need to learn how to use an alias if you're going to pull shit like this!"

"Shit like this?" Dean threw the dishes in the sink with a crash. Sam winced. Hopefully the old china was durable. "Shit like this? I'm telling you the solid-gold truth here, Sam, and you don't believe me? _That's_ shit. We've kept some big lies, you and me, and look how well that turned out. Why the _hell_ would I lie about this? If I could have burned every copy of the damn song I would have, gleefully, but there's just…" he stopped, looking away and breathing heavily.

"Just what?" Sam said, his voice low and dangerous. Dean just looked at him with eyes that were just a little too moist.

"There's just some things I can't protect you from," he whispered with the barest bitter crack in his voice. Before Sam could respond, his brother had vanished. A few seconds later, the sound of his slammed bedroom door reverberated through the Bunker.

* * *

Sam chewed on the end of his pen. It was a bad habit, he knew, but he was stressed. He'd been so sure it was Dean… who else even knew? Gabriel was dead, right? He saw him die.

Wait.

Sam did a quick search of his electronic journal and found the date of that little god convention Dean crashed. Compared it to the dates the radio stations had given him. Gabriel had been alive at the time, but that didn't mean…

Sam did another search of his journals. A few weeks after The Tuesday Incident, he'd had a panic attack from hearing The Song. The only reason he'd even remembered it was because soon afterwards they'd hunted what had turned out to be a legit Seer. She'd correctly pointed out what had triggered Sam's freakout as well as Dean's fear of flying. The radio station donations had started around the same time.

"Sonofabitch," Sam whispered. He felt a stab of nostalgia. Gabriel had been a dick, but he _said_ that he was just trying to help. He'd _died_ trying to help. Perhaps, for once, he'd been telling the truth.

* * *

There was something _wrong_ with Sammy. What had triggered his sudden fixation with _Heat of the Moment_? Dean thought they'd put that mess behind them long ago. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about the situation: on one hand it was kind of adorable how Sam still thought he had the power to fix everything. On the other, Sam suddenly developing trust issues indicated nothing good.

There was a soft knock at the door, followed by a plaintive "Dean?"

He slammed the records he was sorting on the table. Loud enough that the 'piss off' would be heard loud and clear, not hard enough to damage them. Obviously.

"I'm sorry, ok? I just jumped to some conclusions… Gabriel's the one who did it. Jackass murders you in front of me for months, then pays off people so my resulting PTSD wouldn't get triggered… anyway, I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't trust you or anything, I do. With my life. Always have, even when things were shit… So, yeah. I'm going to watch some Indiana Jones in the lounge if you'd like to join. I've got licorice."

Is that all? Typical Sam, his brain running two steps in ahead of his common sense. Dean grunted so that his idiot brother knew that he'd heard him. He waited until slow steps faded down the hall before slumping onto his sweet bed with a sigh. Damn little brothers and their damn hissy fits and their damn puppy eyes. He'd give it a few minutes, let Sam sweat for a bit. His words had stung, after all. But most of the hurt came from the fact that Dean had failed so spectacularly during that case, both during and in the cleanup. That wasn't really Sammy's fault, and he _had_ apologized, so Dean would eventually make his way to the lounge and eat the licorice he knew Sam had only bought for him. And the kid would smile his dopey grin, and they would sit back and relax and enjoy watching Harrison Ford save the day instead of them for a change. He was an _awesome_ big brother in that way, after all.


End file.
